Paint It Black

by Michelle Perry

  “So, how is he?” Cougar said. “When can we see him?”

  “Are any of you family?”

  Cougar threw open his arms. “C’mon, man! We’re all family. Just tell us how he’s doing.”

  “I’m sorry to tell you this, but Mr. Angelino is in a coma.”

  “What?” Cougar exploded, and the surgeon took a step backward. “Man, what did you do to him? He was doing great! He was talking and everything.”

  The surgeon’s mouth tightened, and he turned to leave. I pushed between them and clutched the doctor’s sleeve.

  “Please,” I said. “He didn’t mean anything. We’re all upset. We were hoping for better news, with the way Angel was acting …”

  The man’s frown softened. “The damage done by a head injury is not only the result of the first impact. Swelling can prevent blood from coming into the brain, causing damage. That’s what’s happening to Mr. Angelino. We drained a hematoma, and have him on medication to reduce the swelling. Right now, we’re monitoring the pressure.”

  “What about brain damage?” Tucker asked.

  “Well, he’s lucky the bullet was small caliber. A bullet entering the skull sets up sonic vibrations within the cranial vault, which sends shock waves slamming through gelatinous brain matter. A powerful shot can vibrate the whole brain to a pulp even if it barely passes through the brain’s substance. With a .22, you don’t have as much of that vibration.”

  “Then why do they say a .22 is a hit man’s gun of choice?” Ubi asked.

  “Well, with a .22, sometimes the bullet gets in and can’t get out. It ping-pongs around in the skull until it levels everything. To be honest with you, I don’t know how Mr. Angelino got so lucky. Someone up there must be watching out for him, because …” The corner of his mouth twitched. “… he, ah, has an unusually thick skull.”

  Cougar snorted behind me, and I smiled.

  “Sometimes bullets take weird paths,” the doctor continued. “The shot passed through the prefrontal lobe and followed the curve of his skull to exit out the back of his head. I was actually expecting more extensive damage than I found. If we can get the swelling down, I have great expectations for him.”

  “What do you mean, ‘great expectations’?” Cougar asked. “Will he be…normal?”

  “He’ll probably have to spend a while in therapy to relearn some skills—the frontal lobe affects cognitive ability. For example, he may remember what a toothbrush is, but not how to use it. He might have trouble sequencing—following the steps to make a pot of coffee, for example. You might also see a change in temperament. Someone who was previously outgoing might seem suddenly shy.”

  He paused, and we fell silent. I thought about Angel, and how impossible it was to imagine him being shy, or not even knowing how to brush his teeth.

  The surgeon cleared his throat. “But let’s take it one step at a time. Our main worry right now is swelling. If we can control that, we’ve won most of the battle.” He glanced at Cougar. “I promise, I’ll do everything I can to help your friend.”

  Cougar wrapped his arm around my shoulder and leaned into me as he extended his other hand to the surgeon. “Thanks, Doc.”

  The surgeon shook his hand before slipping away.

  Cougar turned from me and scrubbed his face with his hands. “Aah,” he said. “Shit.”

  I pasted on a smile and moved in front of him. He looked up, but his eyes stared straight through me.

  “Angel’s tough,” I said. “He proved that today. He’s going to be okay.”

  Cougar blinked and finally focused on me. “I told his mother the same thing on the telephone. I promised her he was okay.” He exhaled. “Now I have to tell her he isn’t.”

  Not knowing what to say, I wrapped my arms around his waist and hugged him tight. He squeezed me briefly and kissed the top of my head. Then he pushed me away.

  “Go home,” he said. “Spend what’s left of Thanksgiving with your husband and kid.”

  Glancing at my watch, I realized dinner at my mother-in-law’s was already over. Elizabeth Bramhall suffered neither fools nor tardy daughters-in-law lightly. The headache throbbing behind my eyes seemed to intensify when I imagined walking into her house an hour and a half late and having her and the rest of Grady’s entire extended family stare down their aristocratic noses at me. To say I didn’t fit in with them was an understatement. Maybe if I hung out a little longer, some of them would be gone by the time I got there. Besides, it felt wrong to leave before they brought Angel out of recovery.

  “I’ll leave in a few minutes.”

  Without waiting on a reply, I flopped down in one of the waiting room chairs and closed my eyes. I didn’t mind blowing off Grady’s snooty family—or even Grady, for that matter—because Elizabeth and his uncles always monopolized him at these things anyway. At the last family gathering, the only Bramhall who’d actually spoken to me without being spoken to first was Grady’s crazy Aunt Mary. I hated that I’d missed Thanksgiving dinner with Abby, however, even though I figured she was too busy playing with the other kids to notice.

  I didn’t mean to drift off, but I found myself dreaming of the beach, of sweet-scented tanning lotion and frozen daiquiris—something that was explained when I awoke to find Cougar’s jacket tugged up under my chin. The smell of his tangy, coconut-lime aftershave clung to it, and won him my vote for the best-smelling man on the planet.

  I rose and folded the jacket over my arm. Tucker dozed a couple of chairs down, but Cougar stood at the window, staring down into the parking lot with his arms hugged to his chest. The rest of our team seemed to have cleared out. With a start, I realized it was growing dark outside.

  Grady was going to be so pissed.

  “Hey,” I said, and Cougar turned to face me. “Any word?”

  “He’s out of recovery, but he’ll be in the critical-care unit until tomorrow. No visitors, so you might as well go home. Tucker’s staying with me.”

  He cupped his hands over his mouth and blew into them. “Is it just me, or is it friggin’ cold in here?”

  I tossed him his jacket. “This might help. Want me to find some blankets?”

  “No, I’ll be okay. Just go home and eat a piece of pumpkin pie for me. I’ll call you if anything changes …” Cougar grimaced. “… either way.”

  With a nod, I left. After another twenty-minute bout with my windshield, I pulled into my driveway. The house was completely dark. I frowned at the glowing green numerals on my dash. Ten minutes after six. Why weren’t Grady and Abby home yet?

  Using the remote clipped on my visor, I opened the garage door. Grady’s gleaming Porsche sat in one of the bays.

  Strange.

  After parking, I climbed out and put my hand on the Porsche’s hood. Cool to the touch. I fished my house key out of my pocket and entered through the side door. Moving through the dark kitchen, I wandered into the living room to search for the phone. I reached for the light switch, but my hand—and my heart—stilled when I saw the silhouette of the man sitting on my sofa.

  Maybe Barnes had come to settle the score between us once and for all. With my hand on my gun, I flipped on the light.

  “Oh, geez,” Grady snapped, shielding his eyes. “Cut that off!”

  I was so relieved that I did what he asked, despite his tone. “Grady, what are you doing? Where’s Abby?”

  “She’s spending the night with Mom. They’re going shopping tomorrow, to get those shoes Abby wants.”

  “The Tahoes? I told Abby she couldn’t have them.”

  Grady gave a theatrical sigh. I was glad the light was off, because if I’d seen him roll his eyes, I would’ve probably thrown something at him.

  “Mom wants to buy them for her. I don’t see what the big deal is.”

  I yanked off my coat, threw it at the chair, and missed. “The big deal is, I said she couldn’t have them. No six-year-old should own a pair of $120 shoes.”

  “Mom can afford them. Hell, we can afford them.
The way you act, you’d think we were on welfare or something.”

  “Just because you have money doesn’t mean you should throw it away. Do you think it helps Abby to cater to her every whim?”

  “She’s my kid. If I can give her what she wants, I will. You’ve got to get rid of that chip on your shoulder about money, Necie. Did the irony escape you that you just parked a two-thousand-dollar car in the garage of a half-million-dollar home? I thought about just having that piece of crap towed and buying you a new one, but I know you’re so damn pigheaded you’d probably send it back.”

  I gritted my teeth. Nobody gave me anything. If I didn’t earn it, I didn’t want it. Period.

  “Look,” he said. “I know you had things rough growing up, but things aren’t like that now—”

  “I’d advise you to drop this line of conversation, Grady.”

  He laughed, and the soft clink of ice cubes distracted me.

  “Are you drinking?”

  He held the glass up and rattled it in response. “No. You want one?”

  I hated when he drank, because that usually meant he was looking for a fight. His next words seemed to prove it.

  “Where the hell have you been all day?”

  I moved toward the couch. Despite my nap, I was exhausted. I didn’t feel like fighting, so I made an effort to control my temper. “The raid went bad. We found Angel, but he’d been shot. We’ve been at the hospital waiting on him to get out of surgery.”

  “You missed Thanksgiving dinner.”

  “What?” I stood in front of him. “Hel-lo. Did you hear me? Angel was shot. He’s in a coma.”

  “I don’t know Angel. All I know is, you told me you’d be home early. What good did you do him by sitting at the hospital?”

  Pressing my hand to my forehead, I replied, “He’s one of us. I had to be there.”

  Grady stood. Nose to nose, we glared at each other in the faint glow of the streetlight streaming through the window. He threw his glass against the fireplace, and I flinched when it shattered.

  “Who is ‘us,’ Necie? When I say ‘us,’ I mean me, you, and Abby. I thought when we married you would eventually settle down and forget this, be the kind of wife you should be—”

  I stiffened. “I am not your mother, Grady.”

  “Then be Abby’s,” he shot back. “She kept looking at the clock and asking when Mommy was coming. Do you know how embarrassing it was, to sit there with my entire family and know that my wife was too busy to spend the holiday with me?”

  “Unlike most of your family, I have a job.”

  I started to walk away, but he grabbed my arm. “Let go of me, Grady,” I warned.

  “Or you’ll what, shoot me? Arrest me? Ms. Badass with a badge. You think you’re something, don’t you?”

  When he was drinking, he didn’t bother to conceal the bitterness he felt about my job. Though I knew I shouldn’t even try to talk to him when he was like this, I couldn’t stop the defensive words that burst from my mouth. “You knew what I was when you married me. You knew my job was important to me.”

  “No, revenge is important to you. Did you even get him?”

  I exhaled. “No.”

  “No,” he repeated. “So this goes on, right? Can’t you see it will never end?”

  I jerked my arm free. “It will. And he’ll pay for what he’s done.”

  “At what cost, Necie? Abby will never understand this obsession. She’ll hate you one day. To get revenge on Barnes, would you lose your own daughter?”

  His words stunned me. It was a moment before I could even answer him.

  “I won’t lose Abby. I love her, and I’m a good mother.”

  “Hey, if you say so.” He grabbed the Scotch from the end table and took a swig straight from the bottle.

  I spun on my heel and stalked upstairs to the bathroom. Slamming the door, I locked it behind me, then sat on the edge of the tub for a moment to get my bearings.

  It wasn’t true.

  Yes, I worked, but lots of women did. I loved my daughter and spent a lot of time with her, at least as much as Grady did. How dare he accuse me of neglecting her? I thought of my own mother. She’d worked two jobs to support us, and I’d spent a lot of time alone, but I’d always known she loved me. Abby knew I loved her, too.

  Didn’t she?

  My thoughts were troubled while I showered. I took my time, wanting to postpone the conclusion to our fight. As luck would have it, Grady’s snores echoed from the couch when I made my way back downstairs.

  Drifting into the living room, I stared down at him for a moment, wondering when things between us had gone so wrong. He’d changed so much…but maybe I had, too.

  Dressed in a robe with a towel swathed around my head, I wandered into the kitchen. I hadn’t eaten all day, and my stomach rumbled. Neat rows of Tupperware lined the first shelf of the refrigerator, leftovers from Elizabeth’s catered Thanksgiving meal. When I withdrew them, I thought of Cougar and Tucker sitting in that waiting room with nothing but vending-machine fare.

  That decided it. I shut the refrigerator door and hurried upstairs to change clothes.

  Moving stealthily back to the kitchen, I snatched a plastic grocery bag from the dispenser by the sink and shoved the containers inside, even the one that held the slab of Grady’s favorite chocolate pie.

  After a moment’s hesitation, I grabbed Grady’s keys off the peg over the counter. I felt vaguely hypocritical, but from the looks of him, he wouldn’t be going anywhere anytime soon, and I was too tired to fight the fogged-windshield battle again tonight.

  I made a pit stop at the 7-Eleven to get myself some fresh coffee—neither Cougar nor Tucker drank the stuff —then drove to the hospital. I found Cougar sitting alone in the waiting room. His eyes were closed, and his head leaned back against the wall. Stubble darkened his jaw, making him look like a Calvin Klein model.

  Swallowing hard, I pushed the thought from my mind and crossed over to him.

  One pale blue eye fluttered open and squinted at me. “What the hell are you doing back here?”

  Dropping into the chair next to him, I said, “Thanks for making a girl feel welcome. Where’s Tuck?”

  “I sent him home.”

  “What about Angel’s mother? Is she here?”

  “Not yet. She hasn’t been able to get a flight out.” Cougar yawned and sat up. “You didn’t answer my question. What are you doing here?”

  “Which answer do you want?” I ticked them off on my fingers. “One, Abby isn’t home. She’s going shopping with her grandmother tomorrow to get some shoes I told her she couldn’t have. Two, I was worried about you. I know how you are, Mr. Hot Bod. You probably haven’t eaten anything as lowly and unhealthy as a candy bar since seventh grade. I’d hate for you to have to choose between eating a Snickers and chewing your own arm off.”

  Cougar smiled and reached for my coffee cup. “How much of this stuff have you had already? I don’t know if I’ve ever seen you so … chatty.”

  “Three,” I said, ignoring him. “Grady’s furious with me. He thinks I’m a bad wife and a bad mother because I missed Thanksgiving with the Bramhalls, a bunch of his snooty relatives who barely speak to me anyway. He got tanked and passed out on the sofa.”

  Cougar lifted an eyebrow and took a sip of my coffee. He made a face and handed it back to me. “Did you tell him about Angel?”

  “Yes, I told him about Angel, but Grady lives in a parallel universe where carving turkey is more important than pals. Hey …” I dangled the sack in front of him. “Speaking of which … if you’re through playing twenty questions, I’m starving.”

  “Me, too,” he admitted, and we stood. He took the bag from me and brushed a hand against my lower back. Together, we walked into the hall. A young nurse leaned against a cart, scribbling something on a clipboard. Cougar released me and touched her arm.

  “Miss … Melody,” he corrected with a smile, scanning the name tag on her scrubs.

  Sh
e flushed and smiled back. “Can I help you?”

  “My friend and I are going downstairs to eat. If anything changes with John Angelino, could you page me? My name is Jason Stratton.”

  “Jason Stratton,” she repeated slowly, as if savoring the taste of his name on her lips. “I sure will.”

  Cougar favored her with a wide grin, and I thought she was going to swoon.

  Cougar at close range was some powerful mojo, a fact I acknowledged and tried to ignore. Hard to do when he smelled as good as he looked. I caught a whiff of his aftershave when we stepped inside the elevator and smiled.

  “What?” he asked, but he was smiling, too.

  I rolled my eyes. “You have more groupies than Mick Jagger.”

  He winked. “It’s the accent. City girls have a thing for Southern accents.” He opened the bag and peered inside. “What do you have in here? Please say you have dressing.”

  “I have stuffing.”

  He wrinkled his nose.

  “What? Isn’t that the same thing?”

  “Nope. You guys use croutons or something. My mother makes cornbread dressing. I’ve never found anything like it here in Philly.”

  We walked into the empty dining area and took a table by the Coke machine. Cougar laid out the containers on a chipped table while I dug through my purse for change.

  “Cornbread dressing, huh?”

  “Best-tasting stuff in the world. I’d give a week’s pay for a big bowl of it right now.”

  The wistfulness in his voice made me look up. I remembered the wonderful holiday meals I’d shared with my mother. I’d give anything for just one more Thanksgiving with her.

  “I’m sorry you didn’t make it home for Thanksgiving,” I said.

  Cougar’s shoulder gave a funny little jerk, and he started ripping the lids off the containers. “Ah, I haven’t been home in a few years. My mother will probably visit in a couple weeks. She usually does. Maybe my little brother.”

  “What about your dad?”

  Cougar’s ears reddened, and he turned toward the microwave. “My old man and I… don’t talk.” He jabbed at the buttons. “What’s the matter with this damn thing?”